


An Angel's Bounty

by RieltheWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution, Slow Burn, Supernatural Creatures Still Exist They're Just Not The Main Focus, Unethical Experimentation, relationships tbd - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23904604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RieltheWolf/pseuds/RieltheWolf
Summary: Sam and Dean don't take human bounties often for a reason. They never seem to end well and the little amount of money they get from it is never worth it. When a man who's the CEO of a Fortune 500 company offers them 2 million dollars for a special human bounty, they think their luck has changed. They are reminded pretty quickly that their luck never changes for the better. In taking this bounty, they end up being on the run with the people their supposedly getting paid to hunt down as well as having cut-throat bounty hunters out for their blood.  Secrets are uncovered, unethical experiments are set loose into the world, and feelings between the brothers and the escaped prisoners, Castiel and Gabriel Novak develop into something more than begrudged cooperation.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue (Armed and on the Run)

**Author's Note:**

> (This is revamped, reedited, and reuploaded fic I wrote like 3-4 years ago that I originally hadn't planned on posting but did anyway and I immediately regretted it. Now, I'm trying to improve my writing by rewriting all my old fanfics. I hope you all enjoy it! I am holding out on not turning this into a permanent WIP lol)

The distant blare of alarms did nothing to relieve the tense silence that permeated the air of Zachariah’s office. The man in question stood hunched over his long glass table, teeth gritted, fist clenched, and a quickly growing desire to either shoot something or someone. His eyes dragged slowly upwards to glare at the men and women who made up a small portion of his alleged “highly trained and well prepared” privately funded task force. Despite all of them possessing military-grade rifles in their hands, all of them avoided his gaze, eyes skittering nervously to stare at quite literally anything else. Two of his Angels stood just as tense and quiet near the leftmost wall, eyes fixed firmly on the marble floor, hands clasped tightly behind their backs. The silence, barring the alarms, was allowed to drag on further until Zachariah inhaled sharply, startling the group of men before him.

“How the _fuck_...did this happen?” he said through clenched teeth. 15 pairs of eyes slowly met his own sharp and cold blue ones, none managed to hold his gaze, and they continued to remain silent.

Zachariah slammed a fist down, a loud crack bouncing off the walls as a shallow crater splintered its way across a portion of his glass desk. Everyone flinched violently at the sound, skittish eyes fixing themselves on their irate boss warily.

“Well don’t everyone speak at fucking once!” He snarled angrily. “Someone better start fucking talking right now or someone’s getting shot. How in the fuck did the happen? Where the fuck is Uriel? I swear to—”

The double doors to his office open on cue, the muted sound of the alarms filtering in as well as a large dark-skinned man with a smattering of moles underneath small dark eyes. He was decked out in tactical gear, an assault rifle of his own slung casually against his hip. The 15 guards in front of him quickly parted to allow the man through and watched with bated breath as the man, Uriel, approached Zachariah’s desk.

“I have half a mind to shoot you,” Zachariah hissed lowly, “where the fuck have you been? Hm? I’ve been looking for you for over an hour since this shit blew up.” He moves from behind his desk, eyes sizing the taller man up, a sneer curling on his lips. “You get lost or something?”

Uriel stares at the man impassively, even going as far as to roll his eyes before crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “With all due respect, sir,” Uriel said, purposefully dragging out the ‘sir’ which only serves to piss Zachariah off further, “I was busy enacting our lockdown protocols, assessing our casualties and the damage our inventory took while you were busy fucking around with your Angels.”

Zachariah's eyes narrow at the man before clicking his tongue derisively and moving to sit in his chair with a heavy sigh. “You got some big, titanium balls talkin’ to me the way you do,” he mutters, a hand coming to massage his temples roughly. 

“It's why you hired me," Uriel replied, mouth ticked up in a smug smirk, “You wanted honesty, so honesty you are given.”

"Touché, asshole," Zachariah shot back. "Since your little cronies are all spineless bastards," he glared briefly at the still jittery men and women behind Uriel, "and won't tell me what the hell happened, you gonna tell me or stand there looking unimpressed per usual?"

"I'd be happy to inform you, sir," Uriel answered sarcastically.

Zachariah eyes him with a warning. “Quit with the goddamn attitude and just tell me how bad it is.” 

Uriel nodded once and pulled out a thin tablet from his front vest pocket, scrolling through logs and notes. “They managed to break into the armory; two assault rifles, 4 handguns, a crossbow, and a considerable amount of ammo were taken. The alarm sounded after they left the armory and they gunned down anyone in their way before escaping.”

Zachariah dug his fingers further into his exposed scalp, eye screwed shut at the oncoming headache. “How many?”

“25 dead, at least 40 injured.”

Zachariah cursed loudly, setting his forehead with a soft thunk against the cool glass of his table. “They do anything else worth noting?”

“They also managed to set fire to two of our primary labs, as well as half your penthouse.”

Zachariah laughed bitterly. “Of fucking course they did. How long ago did they escape?”

“Two and a half hours ago,” Uriel replied. “I got a hold of some contacts in the NYPD and they’re working on putting out a metro specific APB on them. They’ve got some people setting up discreet perimeter checks at the main bridges and all subway lines. No way in hell they’re getting out of New York City.”

Zachariah shook his head, gnawing distractedly on his knuckles. “That doesn’t matter. Those two aren’t stupid. They didn’t do this spur of the moment, they’ve probably been planning this for months and they’ll know we’ve got our inside badges looking for them. I wanna know how the fuck they managed to get into the armory in the first place. Who was on duty at the time?”

Uriel scrolls a few seconds before he finds the schedule guard shifts for today. “Samandriel Murphy,” he says.

A quiet “oh, shit” sounded behind them. Uriel and Zachariah both turn to see a no older than 22-year-old, pale and skinny kid shaking uncontrollably, fingers twitching against the gun in his hand.

“You’re Samandriel I presume?” Zachariah said plainly.

“Y-Yes, sir,” he stammered, the shaking got worse.

A predatory smile graces Zachariah’s lips and he sits back in his chair. “Bring him here, Uriel. Take his gun too," he said.

Uriel nodded, striding over to the skinny kid, extracting his gun and dragging him to stand in front of the glass table.

Zachariah opened the latch of a polished wood box on his glass table, pulling out .44 Magnum, turning off the safety and aiming it at Samandriel's head.

"I'm going to give you 10 seconds to tell me why I shouldn't paint my floors with your brain matter because, in all honesty, I'd rather not spend hundreds of dollars trying to get blood stains out of my marble floors and my ceiling. Again."

The kid started crying immediately, ugly sobs spilling from his lips as he sunk to the floor on his knees.

Zachariah rolled his eyes, his gun still trained on Samandriel's head. "Murphy, if you piss your pants on my floors, I'll shoot you twice."

Samandriel wails pitifully and sinks further to the floor. “It’s only my second week here, sir!”

Zachariah’s aim doesn’t falter, but he raises a surprised eyebrow. “Whose bright idea was it to put a newbie on armory shift? On their second week no less.”

“I wasn’t even supposed to be there!” he exclaimed, more tears falling in rapid succession. “I was on my way to the lab guard shift but an Officer stopped me and ordered me to cover his shift for an hour. I was just doing as I was told and then those two angels held me at knifepoint and forced me to open it. They knocked me out and when I came to they were already gone and I sounded the alarm as soon as possible. I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen, please don’t shoot me!” He cried harder, ugly sobs spilling from his lips. 

Zachariah pinched the bridge of his nose and lowered the gun with an irritated sigh. “What was the officer’s name, kid?”

“I-I...I don’t think I should—”

Zachariah shoves the barrel of the gun against the kid's temple, clicked the safety off, and knelt down so he was eye level with the kid. “Listen,” Zachariah spat, “I am in a really shitty mood right now, and I promise you, being a snitch will be the least of your problems if you don’t give me that officer’s name in the next five seconds. Got it?”

Samandriel nods carefully, wide eyes glued on the barrel of the gun against his temple.

“His name?” Zachariah asked again.

“T-Trent. Officer Cole Trent,” he said quickly. 

“Did he say where he was gonna be for that hour?”

“U-um, no, he didn’t say.”

Zachariah’s lips twisted in a snarl before he sighed and clicked the safety back on. “Get up. You can stop dripping snot on my floor, you’re not gonna die.”

Samandriel let out a reliever breath, quickly scrambling off the floor and wiping the tears and snot off his face. 

“Balthazar,” Zachariah called out. One of the Angel’s present, an older man, no older than 45 with fine sandy hair, and icy blue eyes with slight wrinkles stepped forward. He was dressed in a white, form-fitted, sleeveless turtleneck, gold stitched wings on the back and fitted white pants. Both articles of clothing had gold stitching and a white leather collar sat high on his neck, a gold plate in the center. 

“Yes, Zachariah?” he asked automatically, accent unmistakably British.

“Be a dear and take Samandriel down to the Angels’ Nest. Have them treat him for the next hour or so.” His smile was alarmingly sweet when addressing the older Angel. 

The Angel, Balthazar, gave him a tight-lipped smile of his own and nodded wordlessly. He made his way towards Samandriel, gently putting his hand in his shoulder. “If you’ll come with me please.”

“Oh, Balthazar, if you spot Officer Trent on your way, do bring him up here, yeah? He and I need to have a discussion.” The promise for more than talking is marked clearly in the words.

Balthazar gives him another wordless nod and proceeded to escort Samandriel out of the room. 

“The rest of you get out. Uriel, you stay.”

Without any hesitation the remaining 14 security members and the remaining Angel in the room exited swiftly through the door, the alarm shut off as the last of them exited.

“Christ,” Zachariah cursed. “This is a goddamn nightmare from the ninth circle of Hell.”

“Do you want me to alert Ms.—”

“No!” Zachariah shouted quickly. “Jesus, no, are you insane? No, we’re not telling her shit. Not if we can help it. She’ll have my ass and yours put on a stake if she finds out those two managed to escape. We’re gonna handle this ourselves.” He tapped his fingers rapidly against his glass table, eyebrows furrowed in thought before they shot up, an idea gracing his troubled thoughts. “Call the Ubel Twins.”

“You're shitting me,” Uriel said, clearly more unimpressed than before. “Alastair and Azazel? Really?”

Zachariah sighed and lifted his hands placatingly. “Look I hate those sons of bitches as much as you do—”

“Doubtful.”

“Shut it. They’re pieces of shit at best and straight-up swindling evil bastards at worst, but they’re the best at what they do.”

“They’re gonna charge like 2 million for each of their services, you know this right?” Uriel inquired.

Zachariah scoffs and sits up to begin typing something on his computer. “Like we can't afford it. But that doesn’t matter anyway. I have a plan, and we need to hire Hunters to make it work.”

“Hunters?” Uriel repeated. “You mean mercenaries...or?”

“No, I mean Hunters, smartass. Their specialty is normally all the creepy supernatural shit that prowls around like werewolves and vampires. Shit like that. On occasion they take people bounties, but for cheaper.”

“So all the stuff does exist.”

Zachariah fixed him with a look. “What the hell did you think was down in the labs? Mutated Poodles? They’ve existed since forever, they’re just in more remote locations now a day. Less scattered.”

Uriel ignored the slight and watched as Zachariah continued to type away on his computer. “So, the plan I’m guessing is to strong-arm the twins into getting full payment till the bounty is completed and striking up a cheaper deal with the Hunters in the hopes that they’ll find them first and you’ll be able to just kill them afterward with no money lost. Correct?”

“Bingo,” Zachariah said with a grin. “The fewer people alive to know of their existence the better. Plus, no money lost in the end.”

A knock sounded outside of the door seconds later, disrupting the two men and their conversation. “It’s me, Zachariah,” Balthazar’s voice said through the door.

“Come in!” he called back.

The door opened, Balthazar filtering in with a scruffy looking man spiky blond hair and bloodshot blue eyes.

“Officer Trent, as you requested,” Balthazar said.

“Thank you, Balthazar, you’re a dear.”

Balthazar merely nodded and moved to stand against the leftmost wall. 

“Y’wanted to see me, boss?” Cole drawled sluggishly. 

“Yeah, I did,” Zachariah said casually, fingers twitching suspiciously close to his Magnum.

“Look,” Cole said, struggling to stay upright, “if this is about me getting high, it’s for medicinal purposes, I have the card right he—”

Zachariah held up a hand and shook his head slowly, the icy glint reappearing in his irises. “Let me stop you there. I couldn’t give two shakes of a rats ass what you smoke or why. I don’t care what you do in your free time. But I do care when you suddenly think free time is whenever you want it to be and it interferes with your fucking job.”

Cole looks confused for half a second before he curses under his breath. “That skinny little shit tattled…”

Zachariah smiled, it wasn’t a happy or kind thing. “Yeah. And guess what? Your little break to go get high or whatever the fuck you thought was so important that you needed to disappear for more than an hour, that skinny little shit, as you say, the one you stuck with your armory duty got jumped by two dangerous individuals that escaped with weapons and gunned down 25 of your comrades and injured 40 others.”

Cole paled, sobering up fairly quickly as he scratched nervously at his chin. “S-Shit, I-I, fuck, I didn’t—”

“And where the fuck were you exactly when all this went down?” Zachariah asked.

Something dawned suddenly on Cole’s face, and he paled even further, a light sheen of sweat heading across his face and neck. “O-Oh shit,” he whispered in horror. 

The reaction made Zachariah’s eyes narrow further. “Balthazar,” he called, not taking his eyes off of Cole. “Where’d you find him.”

Cole’s eyes snapped to Balthazar, a silent plea in his eyes that exploded something hot and seething inside of Zachariah. If only for the future state of his floors, he hoped his instinct on where Cole had been was wrong.

“Balthazar,” Zachariah said again, this time he faced the man, a sharp smile on his face, “where’d you find him, love.”

Balthazar spared the briefest glance at Cole, a silent apology for what was going to befall him. “In the Angel’s Nest, passed out naked in one of the rooms,” he answered evenly. 

Zachariah’s smile tightened, and the iciness in his iris seemed to crack into something cruel and ugly. “Thank you, Balthazar.” Slowly, Zachariah turned back around and fixed his cruel gaze back on Cole, the sharp smile completely absent. He picked up his .44 Magnum idly checking his cartridge, paying no attention to Cole who was shaking and looked on the verge of tears. 

“Balthazar,” Zachariah said, eerily calm. “What’s the one rule I have made perfectly clear to every employee in this facility since they start in regards to sexual activities with my Angel’s?” He stands up and slowly makes his way over to Cole who surprisingly made no attempt to escape.

Balthazar swallowed them lump in his throat, desperately trying not to choke. “No one is permitted to engage in sexual activities with any Angel unless given explicit permission by you.”

Zachariah stops about a foot away from Cole, eyes still fixed firmly on man. “What’s the punishment if I found out sexual activities occurred and they tell the truth?”

“A bullet to the kneecap,” Balthazar answered quietly, eyes firmly shut.

“And if they lie or attempt to hide it?” The safety of the gun clicked off in the tense silence.

“...T-Two bullets to the stomach,” Balthazar answered, near-silent.

“Please,” Cole begged. “I’m sorry.”

Zachariah smiles at him this time, it’s sharp and unkind, with too many teeth that at first glance look like something out of a horror movie. 

“You shouldn’t have lied,” Zachariah said with a shrug. “Dumb is ignoring my one rule about my Angel’s, downright stupid,” he hissed the word, “is lying to me about it. If you had told the truth, you’d probably walk outta here with a fucked up knee and a limp as a souvenir. Now, you’re in limbo for bleeding out and dying or being in such excruciating pain you’ll wish you’d have died.”

Without warning, Zachariah fired off one shot, then another into Cole’s stomach, the sounds of the two gunshots bouncing loudly off the walls. Balthazar had flinched violently at both noises and was doing his best to keep his eyes fixed on the ceiling rather than watch as Cole gasped and convulsed in pain on the floor, straggled noises trying to escape his throat as blood looked steadily on the floor. 

“On the off chance you survive, which I doubt you will,” Zachariah said, “I’ll reinstate as a janitor in the boiling room so I don’t have to see your ugly mug again.” He knelt down and grabbed a fistful of Cole’s hair and lifted the man’s head. “No one touches my Angel’s unless I say they can. If you live to see another day, be sure to remember that.”

He stood up, careful to avoid stepping in the quickly growing pool of blood. “Take him to medical, Uriel. If he bleeds out, toss him in the furnace. Call the Ubel Twins. Garth too, while you're at it. That bastard is probably making a fortune off the number of times this happens.”

Uriel nodded, heaving Cole up and over his shoulder, a grimace etched on his face as sticky blood seeped into his tact gear as he exited. Zachariah sighed in annoyance placing his gun back on the table, his attention moving to focus on Balthazar whose gaze was trained on the large pool of blood, eyes blown in the barest hint of fear.

“Balthazar, come here,” Zachariah commanded gently.

Balthazar’s eyes pulled themselves away from the mess on the floor and gritted his teeth as he made his way over to Zachariah. Zachariah placed both hands on Angel’s shoulders and it took everything in Balthazar not to flinch away or lash out. 

“You’re shaking, love,” he said softly. 

Balthazar narrowed his eyes and carefully removed Zachariah’s hands from his shoulders. “I’m fine,” he said pointedly, forcing his body to cease its shaking.

Zachariah only smiled and reached up to kiss Balthazar’s cheek. “I know. You’re a tough one. You don’t like it when I do things like this though do you? Sorry about that, love.”

“May I go now?” Balthazar said roughly.

The tall man sighed and nodded with a quick pat to his cheek. “Yeah, go on.”

Balthazar backed away as quickly as possible from Zachariah and made his way out the door without much preamble.

Annoyed and exhausted, Zachariah sat down heavily at his desk and pulled out his business phone, scrolling till he found the number he was looking for and promptly began dialing it. While he waited for the phone to pick up, he glared at the two photos of the men who popped up his emergency protocol, the two that had caused this mess in the first place: Gabriel and Castiel Novak. Eventually, the phone stopped ringing, and a deep, crackly voice answered with a cautious hello.

“Hi, yes, am I speaking to Sam or Dean Winchester? Who’s asking? Well, the name’s Zachariah Achor and I’m glad you asked, I have a business proposition that I think you’ll find pays quite handsomely. Are you interested?”


	2. Journey To the Concrete Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now to the present w/ Sam and Dean and a sketchy offer worth a fine penny.

“Remind me once again why you decided to take this bounty without talking to me about it first?” Dean asks as he threw another worn flannel into his duffle bag.

Sam spares a glance at his older brother, barely withholding an eye roll at the scowl marring his features. “I figured we needed a break from hunting supernatural creatures, ya know? We’ve hunted liked four rogue werewolves in the last two weeks on top of a wendigo and a surprise vampire nest. I for one am tired of almost getting my face chewed off.”

“But New York?” Dean asks petulantly. “Sammy, I hate New York, you know that.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow at him, lips tilting in a teasing smirk. “The only reason you hate New York is because of the Feather Boa inci—”

He’s interrupted when a pair of underwear smacks him square in the face. Sam makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and quickly throws the underwear back at his brother merely smacks the underwear away while looking at Sam with flushed cheeks and an angry scowl. “We don’t talk about that incident,” he snaps, a menacing finger pointed in Sam’s direction. 

“No, you don’t talk about that incident,” Sam corrects with a shit-eating grin. “I, however, find it quite hilarious to randomly bring up the time you were tied to a bedpost, naked, with feathery pink boas as restraints by the fraternal twin redheads you fu—”

Dean angrily throws a nearby book at Sam’s head, the taller brother merely bursting out in laughter at his reaction. “Fuck you, asshole! I was tied to that bed for two hours before you found me. They stole my wallet!”

“You had like ten dollars and fake credit cards in there, dude,” Sam says through occasional guffaws of laughter.

“Still! It was traumatizing. New York is a goddamn nightmare,” Dean says with an exaggerated shudder. 

Sam rolls his eyes and finishes packing his duffel bag. “Whatever, jerk. We’re going so you have no choice anyway. Who knows, you might run into the Weasley twins again.”

Sam ducks when Dean makes a swipe for his head, laughing lightly as he makes his way to the garage.

“Fuck you, Sam! I know where that’s from!” Dean yells after him. “Fuckin’ nerd and his stupid Harry Potter references,” he mutters to himself. Shoving the last of his clothes into his duffel, he hurries after Sam in the garage.

By the time he gets there, Sam is rifling through the trunk of Dean’s sleek, black 67 Chevy Impala with his laptop balanced precariously on the inside edge. Dean tosses his duffel in the trunk, just missing Sam’s head and ducks inside the trunk with Sam to assist in double-checking their arsenal. “We got everything?” he asks.

“I think so. Do we need the sniper rifle?”

Dean shrugs. “I dunno. You’re the one who took the bounty, shouldn’t you know?”

Sam has the nerve to look sheepish, focusing his attention on a Glock .22, quickly checking the cartridge inside. “I mean, he didn’t give us a lot of info on the people we’re after. He said he’d explain it all when we got there.”

“You accepted a bounty without getting on the deats on the people we’re gonna be gunning after? Come on man, you know better than that.”

Sam cringes slightly at the disapproving tone in Dean’s voice, though he knows he’s right. “I know, I know,” he says with a sigh. “But would you be asking a whole bunch of questions if someone told you they’d give you 2 million for a bounty and tell you the details later?”

Sam startles when Dean jerks upwards, hitting his head with a loud metallic thunk on the inside of the trunk door, a string of curses leaving his lips. “Are...are you okay?” Sam asks.

“2 MILLION?” Dean exclaims, green eyes blown wide in shock.

“...Yes?” Sam says slowly.

“Like...in U.S. dollars?”

“Uh, Yep.”

“No tax?”

“I...assume not? Wha—”

“...Like not Pezos or anything?”

“Dean!” Sam shouts, exasperated. “2 million U.S. dollars. That’s what I said, that’s what I meant.”

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes out. “Who the hell is the guy paying us?”

“Zachariah Achor,” Sam says. He moves towards his laptop and clicks on one of his recent tabs. A tall man with gray, thinning hair, scrunched blue eyes, and a crooked smile appears on the screen. “Sounds like a real big shot from what I could find. He became the CEO of this Fortune 500 company called Angelican Labs in 1994. The company’s been around for some years, it was founded in 1893.”

Dean peaks over his brother’s shoulder as he scrolls down the page, quickly scanning through the info on the page as he browses through the website. 

“They’ve got labs literally everywhere,” Sam continues. “They focus mainly on pharmaceutical development, but they’ve funded and built hospitals and universities. Of course, there’s the down-low business stuff too. I called Jesse to see if he could find any underground info on them. Apparently they own casinos and conduct “alternative experimentation”.”

“I’m guessing none of that last part is public knowledge?” Dean asks flatly.

“Nope,” Sam says.

Dean narrows his eyes and sniffs derisively. “Sketchy.”

“Sketchy enough to pass up 2 million dollars?”

Deans hums thoughtfully before shrugging. “Guess we’ll find out soon. So New York?”

“New York City specifically. It’s where he’s listed as living. Plus they’re headquarters are there.”

“I mean as good as 2 million dollars sounds, it still doesn’t sit right with me that he wouldn’t give you all the info over the phone,” Dean says hesitantly.

“I mean it’s either this or the witches the Banes twins needed—”

At the mention of witches, Dean scrambles back from the trunk and walks briskly to the driver’s seat of the Impala, frantically searching for the car keys. “Get all your shit in the trunk and hurry your ass up!” Dean yells from the front. “If we wanna get there before midnight we gotta go now! There’s no way in hell I’m dealing with witches, no sir!”

Sam snorts but obeys and piles the last of his stuff in the trunk, grabs his laptop, and makes his way to the passenger side seat. “You know the Banes’ are witches too right?”

Dean sends him a withering look before quickly starting the car. “I mean witches that are hell-bent on either having me killed or cursed for an eternity and you know it.”

“Whatever you say, Dean,” Sam chuckles. “Wait...isn't New York City where the—”

“Sam, I swear to God, keep it up and you’ll ride in the trunk the whole way there,” Dean warns. 

“I’m just saying!” Sam exclaims innocently. “Maybe you could have a little reunion with the Weasl—”

Dean punches Sam in the arm, hard, and hunches over the steering wheel angrily. 

“Jerk,” Sam mutters while rubbing his sore arm. 

“Bitch,” Dean snaps back. 

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Sam jolts awake to the blaring sound of several car horns honking at once. He snuffles once and shifts awkwardly, looking over at his brother’s blurry profile to see him aggressively slamming his hand against the Impala’s horn, eyes aflame with rage.

“Come on! Get a move on, asshole, the light’s green!” Dean bellows.

Sam snorts and sits up slowly in his seat, haphazardly rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Dean glances over at him briefly before training his focus on the slow crawl of New York City traffic. “Mornin’ sleepin’ beauty,” he teases.

“S’not even morning, stupid,” Sam says sleepily.

“My apologies, Princess,” Dean quips. 

Sam rolls his eyes and focuses his attention on the tall and brightly lit buildings that surround them. As loud and as headache-inducing as NYC could be sometimes, the visuals and bright glow the restless city emits at night never fails to inspire awe in Sam. “We almost there?” Sam asks, eyes still trained on the sights around them.

“Yeah, GPS says we’re like a mile away, so like five minutes or so,” suddenly he honks his horn again with a shout of frustration. “Or at least it would be if this asshat in front of me in that god-awful Prius would just fucking move forward!”

Rolling down the window, Dean sticks his head out and starts yelling at the Prius owner. “Get off your phone and drive, asshole!”

Prius-guy promptly sticks out their hand and gives Dean the bird before speeding off. 

“Yeah well fuck you too buddy!” Dean snaps. With a huff, Dean slouches back in his seat and continues down the busy road, scowl firmly in place. “Fuckin’ hate this place,” Dean grumbles. “The driver’s here are rude as hell.”

“You’re not exactly a driving saint yourself, Dean,” Sam points out.

“Shuddup, I’m the Dahli Lama of drivers,” Dean says primly.

They bicker back and forth for a few more minutes before the GPS spoke up and declared they had reached their destination. 

“This it?” Dean asks, straining upwards to look at the extremely tall building to their right.

Sam does the same and nods. “That’s it.”

“The hell’re we gonna park?” Dean says, eyes trailing down the row of filled parking spaces along the street. 

“Maybe try the parking garage that says Angelican Lab Guest Parking,” Sam says flatly, pointing at a bright sign that pointed to a large parking lot not a few hundred feet in front of him. 

Dean glares at him and Sam merely gives him an innocent little shrug and a bright smile. He drove up to the parking garage, reeling slightly at the price.

“$45 dollars to park? Geez. You got another 20?”

Sam fishes out his own wallet and pulls out a slightly crumpled 20 dollar bill and hands it to insert it with the other cash. The machine beeped once, then spit out a silver coin with the letters AL etched neatly on both sides.

“Huh. Guess this is our receipt.” Dean hands the small coin to Sam to put in the glove box. He drives forward as the striped barrier lifts, luckily they only circle the lot before they find an open spot close to the garage exit. 

“Awesome. No extra walking,” Dean says proudly. 

Sam agrees silently and makes his way out of the car to pull both his and Dean’s duffels out of the trunk. Killing the engine, Dean makes his way out as well and takes his duffel from Sam’s outstretched hands. Making their way out of the parking garage, a burst of pre-winter air hits them square in the face, causing both brothers to shiver slightly. Cars blazed past them as they waited till it was slightly less busy to allow for them to pass without risk of getting hit or run over. Quickly, they crossed the busy street and stopped to admire the building before them. It was blindingly white, the entire building covered in what looked like blacked out floor to ceiling windows, silver and blue tints streaking across their sleek surface. At the very top, ‘Angelican Labs HQ’ was spelled out in neat blueish white sans-serif font letters.

Dean whistles appreciatively at the sight. “Nice digs he’s got.”

“Mhm,” Sam says absently, eyes still transfixed on the building’s design. 

“Come on, we better get going. It’s chilly as shit out here and I’d rather not have my balls freeze off,” Dean says, teeth chattering slightly together.

Sam wrinkles his nose at the imagery but nonetheless nods and follows after his brother to the building’s brightly lit entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! I've written up to three chapters so hopefully, that'll keep ya'll satisfied for a bit lol. Also, be easy w/ me I haven't written seriously for Supernatural in like 3-4 years I might be rusty.


	3. Unlucky Draw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean get reminded that their luck never turns for the better

The inside of Angelican Labs HQ rivaled the brilliance of its outside. Sam and Dean both marvel at the shine that spreads across the entire first level. The floor was made of a well-polished marble, not a scratch or blemish present on the entire surface, and the walls were covered in an iridescent crystalline material. The level they were on appeared to be a large mingling/waiting room, men and women alike sat around high rise tables, each nursing an alcoholic beverage, casually conversing amongst themselves making up scattered groups of sharp suits and finely pressed pencil skirts. There were, however, men and women dressed in odd white uniforms consisting of fitted white pants and tailored turtle necks made from a material neither brother could identify. These uniformed men and women bustled quickly around the area, some carrying empty drinking glasses, others smiling politely as they brought ordered drinks, a few carrying stacks of papers and files to and from. Both Sam and Dean glance at each other with raised brows before shrugging and continuing forward. They make their way towards a long, curved glass desk that read Check-In/Information Desk. An olive-skinned man, dressed in one of the odd white uniforms, types hurriedly at a large computer and glances up briefly to smile brightly at the two men.

“One second, gentlemen, I’ll be right with you,” he says.

Dean lifts his hands placatingly. “No rush.”

The man only nods once and continues typing while swiping at an obscured screen just behind the desk. He stops after a few seconds and turns his attention to both Sam and Dean with an easy smile. 

“I apologize for the wait, gentlemen. My name is Ivan, what can I help you with today?”

Sam steps forward, mouth twitching up in an awkward smile. “Um, yes, we were “commissioned” by your boss for a special search and rescue job?” He tries to be as vague as he can without outright saying they are paid bounty hunters.

“Ah, you’re one of Mr. Achor’s bounty hunters?” Ivan asks simply.

Sam reels back, surprised, and then embarrassed at his unnecessary and poor attempt at not outright saying they’re bounty hunters. “Y-Yes, yeah, that’s...yeah.”

Dean snorts behind him and Sam punches him swiftly in the gut without breaking Ivan’s eye contact, giving him a strangled laugh.

Ivan smiles understandingly. “Bounties aren’t much of a secret around here. In New York City specifically. New clients usually act pretty surprisedly when we flat out say it, so you're not alone. Let me check our recent bounty commissions.”

Ivan picks up a thin tablet, typing something then scrolling a few seconds before frowning down at the screen. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t look like we have any bounty commissions placed by Mr. Achor recently.”

Dean shifts so he’s standing next to Sam, both donning wary expressions. 

“I apologize, can I get your names, please?” Ivan says hurriedly, fingers swiping quickly across the tablet’s surface. 

“Sam and Dean Winchester,” Dean answers, eyeing Ivan cautiously. 

Ivan stops suddenly, his apologetic smile fading suddenly from his lips as his gaze shifts between them. “...Winchester?” he asks slowly. 

“Yeah,” Dean answers, hostility creeping its way into his tone. “Problem?”

Ivan’s gaze focuses on Dean, face stricken, and a little pale. “N-no, not at all,” he says quickly. “It...it just explains...nevermind. Excuse me a moment.”

He quickly sets the tablet down and picks up a nearby phone, quickly dialing a number. “Mr. Achor? I apologize, but the Winchesters’ have arrived. Yes, sir. Will we be providing them with accommodations? Very well, I’ll let the Angels on duty know ahead of time.”

Dean looks at Sam, quickly mouthing what the fuck? before Ivan hangs up and turns his attention back to them, his professional smile back in place but strained and a little shaky. 

“I apologize for the confusion, gentlemen. Someone will be down in a moment to take you to meet with Mr. Achor. Would either of you like a drink while you wait?”

Sam shook his head. “No, we’re—”

“Got any whiskey?” Dean interrupts, ignoring the face Sam pulls.

“Of course,” Ivan says. “Any particular kind?”

“Surprise me,” Dean says with a wink. 

Ivan swallows thickly and nods, hurrying away to the back room. 

Picking up their bags, they moved to an unoccupied table to wait.

“Somethings wrong with you,” Sam mutters with a glare.

“The hell are you talking about?”

“You were about to lay into that poor guy in a non-sexy way and now you’re ordering drinks from him and being a shameless flirt!” Sam exclaims.

Dean scoffs and punches Sam playfully in the arm. “Come on, Sammy, I’m just messin’ around. I’m not nearly as flirty as I used to be I’m just bein’ nice.”

“Whatever, weirdo,” Sam says derisively.

Ivan approaches seconds later, a tumbler full of whiskey on an expensive-looking glass coaster, eyes carefully trained on the glass.

“Thanks, ‘ppreciate it,” Dean says with another wink abs playful grin. 

Ivan tenses but smiles politely before hurrying away to the front desk.

Dean frowns and sips quietly at his whiskey, smacking his lips appreciatively at the rich flavor. “Weird. That usually works.”

Sam, who had closed his eyes momentarily, merely snorts. “He probably thinks you’re a creep.”

“Do I look like a creep to you?” Dean asks, gesturing proudly to his body.

Sam peaks an eye open to look at him. “You want an honest answer?” 

“Fuck you, I do not.” Dean grunts, downing the rest of his whiskey.

“Just sayin’,” Sam says.

“Gentlemen,” A British voice says. 

Both men jump slightly and look behind them to see a slightly older man, early 40’s at best, sandy blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in one of the odd white uniforms, though his turtleneck was sleeveless and a white collar that sat high on his neck with a square gold plate placed on the center with words they couldn’t quite read.

“Gentlemen,” The man says again, “my name is Balthazar, I’ll be escorting you to Mr. Achor at this time. Would you like me to carry your bags?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Dean says awkwardly.

“Very well,” Balthazar says, expression impassive. “If you’ll follow me please.”

He turns and immediately Sam and Dean’s gaze focuses on the intricately designed wings on the back of his turtleneck, the stitching and loose feathers bright gold.

Angel? Dean mouthed to Sam. He shrugs and follows after Balthazar, Dean a few steps behind them. 

Balthazar leads them to an elevator sectioned off from the ones they had seen nearest to the front desk. 

A scanning pad lay just above the floor buttons, Balthazar bends over and makes his eye level with the scanner until it turns green and lit up all the buttons. He presses floor 90 of the 95 that existed and stands back patiently as the elevator begins to move. After a few moments of awkward silence and weary gazes passed between the two brothers, Sam loudly clears his throat and turns his attention to Balthazar.

“Are we allowed to ask any questions?” he asks.

Balthazar spares a sideways glance at Sam before training his eyes on the crystalline inside of the elevator door. “Of course,” he says, though his eager-to-please voice didn’t match his expression. “I’m here to provide you with anything you need as well as answering any of your questions to the best of my ability.”

Dean clicks his tongue once and nods. “Cool. With that said, what do Angels refer to around here? Are you all like...actual angels...or?”

Neither brother misses the way Balthazar’s eyes roll at the question before he fixes his expression and turns to address Dean. “No, Mr. Winchester we’re—”

“Dean’s fine,” he interrupts with a sharp and slightly unfriendly smile. “Mr. Winchester was my father. I’d rather not be associated with him.”

Balthazar doesn’t seem fazed by the hostility, more unimpressed than anything, and opts to nod once politely. “My apologies, Dean. However, back to your question, no, we are not actual angels. Angel’s here are considered…” he pauses, jaw clenching tightly before he answers again. “We’re Mr. Achor’s personal service workers. Anything he requires us to do, provide, or remedy, we do so.” 

Dean holds Balthazar’s icy gaze before looking away and scratching uncomfortably at his neck. “Thanks..for that clarification.”

Balthazar narrows his eyes, mouth set in a firm line as he turns his attention back to the elevator door. “You’re welcome,” he says quietly.

Sam makes a hurried attempt at filling the silence before it can get awkward again. “Do you happen to have any more information on this bounty we’re taking?”

Balthazar’s shoulders tense before he can hide his reaction, both brother’s eyeing the way he quickly steels himself and puts on a neutral expression. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Achor about that. He doesn’t tell us much about his bounty business dealings.”

Before Sam can ask anything else, the elevator comes to halt and opens up to reveal a long hallway with similar polished marble floors and shimmering walls.

“This way, please,” Balthazar says.

More people in odd white uniforms pass by them as they continue down the long hall; like Balthazar, they had intricately designed wings on the back of their turtlenecks and white collars placed high on their throats. They took a left at the end of the hall and approached two tall silverish gray doors, each decorated with symmetrical engravings at the edges.

“Please wait here a moment,” Balthazar says before opening one of the doors and slipping inside.

Just as the door closed, Dean rounds on Sam, expression grim and mildly angered. “Okay, first of all, what the fuck. Second of all, what the fuck, Sam? What’d you get us into?”

Sam sighs wearily and rubs his fist agitatedly against his lips. “No idea. But it’s not good, that much I can tell.”

“No shit!” Dean exclaims in a hissed whisper. “ ‘We’re his personal service workers’? That’s literally just a fancy way of saying he’s their pimp. He’s got ‘em wearing collars for fuck’s sake, who does that?”

“I don’t know, okay!” Sam snaps. “I’m just as weirded out as you are but it’s not like we can just bolt without an explanation. We’re in this shit and all we can do is find out what this guy’s deal is and figure it out from there.”

Dean fists a hand in his hair and shakes his head slightly. “This ain’t gonna be good, Sammy. I can feel it.”

Sam’s jaw clenches, nodding stiffly. “I know. I feel it too.”

The door opens suddenly, and both brothers fix their faces as Balthazar peaks his head through and gestures for them to come inside. 

“He’s ready for you now.”

Sam and Dean nod quickly and follow Balthazar into the room. It’s dimly lit inside, and the windows stretch across the entire back of the room to reveal the New York City skyline. It’s slightly smaller than the communal area downstairs and in the middle sat a single glass desk with a wooden box and a desktop placed on either end of the table. In front of it stood the man they had seen on the website; tall, almost hunched stature, thinning gray hair, a sharp crooked grin, and piercing eyes.

“Gentlemen!” he says with an enthused lilt in his voice. “It’s so great to finally meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that's the last one for tonight! I hope these 3 chapters keep ya'll hooked for the time being! Until next time! Enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> There you have the beginning of the story! Once again, I hope you all enjoy this weird ride. Try not to get upset if updates don't come regularly, I will try my best :)


End file.
